Consolation
by Gmariam
Summary: For years, Remus Lupin found comfort in the arms of Rosmerta Richardson...until the day he no longer needed her consolation.


Consolation

_i. September, 1993_

"Remus Lupin!" Rosmerta Richardson exclaimed, leaning across the bar to kiss him on the cheek in a way that was far more intimate than the way she greeted most of her customers at the pub. He accepted it with a quick kiss on the opposite cheek in return. "What finally brings you back to Hogsmeade?"

Remus smiled as he settled onto a stool at the Three Broomsticks. Just walking into the old pub had relaxed him; gazing around, he was relieved to see that not much had changed in the years since he had been there, including Rosmerta: she was just as friendly, open, and beautiful as ever. She was only six years older than him, yet looked far younger and more vibrant than he had ever felt. "I'm teaching up at the castle, actually."

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. "You are not."

"I am." Remus laughed, not really offended by her reaction since he still questioned the decision to take the job himself. Still, he was curious. "Why is that so shocking?"

"Tell me you didn't take the Defense Against the Dark Arts position," she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. "You're not so foolish as that, Remus."

"Apparently I am, because that's exactly what I've gone and done." He paused and glanced around the pub once more. It was busy but comfortable, and in spite of his nerves and her skeptical response, he was glad to be back—glad to see her, especially at such an uncertain time in his life. "Can I get a Butterbeer while you interrogate me, or is this a bad time?"

"You'll need something stronger if you've taken that position," she retorted, setting a bottle before him with a shake of her head and a rueful smile. "But it's your job now. So how are you, Remus?"

"I've been better, but I've been worse." Remus shrugged as he took a pull at his drink. "I'm looking forward to teaching, to be honest. It already feels good to be doing something—something that matters."

"Of course it does," she said. "You weren't meant to sit around all day. You were meant to make a difference."

"I rather doubt that," Remus murmured, staring into the bottle. "I certainly didn't think I'd ever end up at Hogwarts again."

"Oh, I'm not surprised you're back," she replied. "I'm just surprised that it's taken so long. But you know what they say about that job, Remus."

"They said the same thing when I was at Hogwarts," Remus replied, sounding more confident than he felt. "I can handle it."

"Yes, but can you handle these kids?" She paused and gave him a thoughtful look. "Have you met Harry Potter yet?"

Remus set down his drink and sighed. "Yes, I met him on the train ride from London. He's the spitting image of his father." He fell silent, still struggling with the overwhelming sense of loss he had felt every time he had looked at the boy during the welcome feast. Why had she brought it up? He had come to the pub to relax, not to remember.

"I imagine he is," Rosmerta replied. "And he's already had quite the career at Hogwarts, from what I've heard."

"I've heard the same." Remus swallowed as he tried not to think about Harry Potter, running through the same halls that his father once roamed, stirring up his own brand of trouble with Sirius…

"It brings back memories every time Hagrid is in here talking about that boy and his friends. Oh, the four of you!" Rosmerta fondly shook her head, and Remus smiled sadly.

"Don't remind me," he murmured. "It already feels like I'm stuck in the past, surrounded by ghosts…" If he squinted hard enough, he could almost see them: James and Lily, sitting in a corner, shyly holding hands; Sirius snorting as he watched his best friend drift away; Peter observing silently, sad eyes flecked with envy.

Maybe it had been a mistake to come back to Hogwarts: there were too many memories, too many regrets, too many dreams lost to death and deception. How could he face those demons every day? How could he face Harry?

"You're here, now," she said as if reading his mind. She leaned closer, cupping her hand around his chin as she gently kissed his lips. "It's good to see you again, Remus. It's been too long."

"It's only been a few years," he murmured as he ran a finger down her cheek and dared to hope she wouldn't reject him for staying away so long this time.

"Then we have a lot to catch up on," she replied.

"There are some things I'd rather forget," he murmured.

"Then we can forget them tonight."

And for that night, at least, he did.

* * *

_ii. December, 1993_

"I hate this time of year," Remus grumbled, placing his empty goblet down on the counter and glancing around the pub.

"It's not so bad," said Rosmerta, taking the glass. He motioned for another one and she gave him a reproachful look. When he waved his hand impatiently, she shook her head and filled it again, knowing she shouldn't. He let the strong mead coat his throat before he told her exactly why he hated it, even though she knew perfectly well why.

"It's rubbish," he said. "People rushing around wishing one another Happy Christmas when half of them don't even mean it. Bloody fairy lights and carols—and you should see the castle! It's even worse than when I was a student."

He glowered into his glass before downing it in one long gulp that left him shuddering. She took it back and refused him another; he didn't even notice, for he had let his head fall to his hands on the bar. It was times like these that she felt such pity for him.

It was Christmas Eve, and the pub had all but cleared out. In fact, Remus was the only one at the bar, while two old men—regulars she knew and loved—sat in the back, finishing their ale before they would head out into the night singing those same carols Remus professed to hate. Only he didn't, not really. It was simply too many holidays spent alone that had hardened his heart. That was how they had come together, during his first Christmas after James and Lily's death, when he had been at the darkest point in his young life and she had found herself his only comfort.

"Harry came to see me last month," he said abruptly, sitting up straight and looking her in the eye. "About the Dementors."

Rosmerta froze, sensing that Remus was about to go someplace dark with talk of Dementors. Christmas hardly seemed the night for it, but she had learned over the years that of all the men she had been with, he was one man who should not hold things inside. He already kept a deep secret from most of the world; other heartbreaks he needed to share. She reached out for his hand.

"You can't blame him for it. They're foul creatures, and I hate that they are here."

"I hate the reason they're here," Remus muttered. "Can I have another drink?"

"No," said Rosmerta, and she offered him a glass of water. "You can have this instead."

He rolled his eyes at her, but he took it. "Harry wants me to show him the Patronus Charm. The Dementors have a terrible effect on him, which is no surprise given his past, and it does seem prudent to offer him some sort of defense against them."

Rosmerta was careful in her reply. "It's a difficult spell," she said. "Do you think he'll be able to manage it?"

Remus shrugged. "I don't know. He's different, special. Perhaps if he can find the right memory, he might be able to do it."

"He's had a hard life," Rosmerta murmured, thinking back to her conversation with the Minister a few days earlier.

"He's not the only one," Remus replied, and there was genuine bitterness in his voice. "James, Lily, Peter—all because of him, because of…" He trailed off, swiping at the air in despair. Rosmerta had not heard him say the name once since Remus had returned. Given that the man who had once been his best friend had now escaped from Azkaban and appeared to be after Harry Potter, it was a wonder Remus's resentment wasn't consuming him by now.

"Because of Sirius Black," she said softly. Remus glanced at her with a flash of anger in his eyes before letting his head slump to the bar once more, his shoulders shaking. She sighed as she began to clean up around him. The men in the back slung their arms around one another and finally left, singing their annual strains of 'We Jinx You a Happy Christmas.' Locking the door behind them, Rosmerta gently tapped Remus on the shoulder; he wasn't in any shape to return to his rooms at the castle, and he shouldn't be alone on Christmas anyway. She knew he was thinking of his friends, of Sirius and Peter and the last Christmas they had all celebrated at the Potters' together.

"Come on," she said, helping him stand. "Let's get you a room."

He did not protest as she took him upstairs, led him to an empty room, even undressed him and tucked him into bed. It wasn't until she was leaving that he reached out for her hand and asked her to stay.

"Of course," she murmured, kissing him on the forehead. "It's Christmas."

And because in some ways she was just as lonely as him, she stayed, and fell asleep in his arms.

* * *

_iii. June, 1994_

"Do you mind if I take a room here tonight?" Remus asked. "I'd rather rest for a spot before I head out on my next great adventure." There was a slightly bitter tone to his voice that he didn't bother to disguise. Why should he? He was bitter.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Remus," said Rosmerta, smiling as she led him upstairs to a room—his room, where he had stayed several times now, when he was unable to return to the castle or simply did not wish to. She often shared it with him, yet for some reason she had never invited him into her bed, and he often wondered why they had never really addressed the unusual relationship they had, and why they had never made it more…official.

No, he knew perfectly well why: he was damaged, he was poor, and now he was unemployed. He tried not to sigh heavily as he thought about his future and the brief hope he'd experienced wrenched away so abruptly. He should be used to it, having been turned away so may times in his life, and he should have anticipated it: the job was cursed, after all. Just like him.

"You'll have to tell me what happened," Rosmerta was saying as they entered. "There's been quite a bit of talk around here about the goings on up at the castle last night."

"I can only imagine," Remus murmured, levitating his trunk to a nearby corner and throwing himself into a chair. "Which is why I certainly cannot stay as long as I'd like, since it will only make things difficult for you once word spreads."

Rosmerta sat down on the bed across from him, frowning. She was dressed in a set of blue embroidered robes that fit her well. Her blond hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders and her green eyes were filled with concern. He realized with a start that he would miss her: would miss what he had with her, whatever it was. He had come to really count on her over the past year, visiting the pub far too often than was probably good for either one of them, seeing as how things usually ended up, and yet each time it had been a comfort.

Teaching at Hogwarts had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. No, not exactly—teaching Harry had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. The entire year had been one day after another spent reliving memories of the past, memories tainted by a lifetime of believing that Sirius had betrayed James and Lily to their death, had murdered Peter in cold blood, and had escaped to kill James's son.

Only it hadn't been Sirius: he was innocent.

Just thinking about it took Remus's breath away once more. Peter Pettigrew, living as a rat this entire time, the real spy and murderer. Sirius, in Azkaban for so many years because of it. How had they all missed it? How had they all survived?

"You don't look so well," Rosmerta said, standing abruptly. "I'll get you something while you lie down. And then you can tell me your story."

He simply nodded as he obeyed her. It was her domain, after all, and he usually did as he was told, especially if he was recovering after a bad night, and last night had been a bad night. He limped to the bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling and replaying the scene in the Shrieking Shack over and over in his mind: Peter's confession and Sirius's determination and Harry—poor, brave Harry. How could anyone survive such a betrayal and yet still find it within himself to spare the man who had killed his parents?

Yet Remus knew he had missed the most spectacular events of the night due to his transformation. And that was why he was leaving: he had tried so hard to do the right thing, yet he was still a danger to others and always would be. Maybe that was why he had never tried to pursue anything with Rosmerta. He could not be with anyone without endangering their very life, let alone their happiness. He closed his eyes against the sad knowledge that he was about to head back into a lonely world.

Rosmerta returned with a goblet. He sat and drank it down and invited her to sit with him. She did not curl up at his side as he might have hoped; instead she faced him and listened as he told her everything that had happened the night before, leading up to his resignation that morning.

"And so I took my leave of Dumbledore, and Harry, and here I am," he finished. "And once more I gaze upon the empty road before me."

Rosmerta moved closer to him, and he felt his heartbeat begin to increase. They always seemed to have that effect on one another, from the first time they had been together so many years ago, to the last time he had come into the pub only weeks before. Yet there was more there, for she listened to him each and every time; why was he so reluctant to go further when in reality they already had?

"It's not empty, Remus," she murmured, taking his hand and tracing circles on his palm. "You've gained back a part of your life you thought was lost."

He gave her a skeptical look. "What part again?"

"Sirius," she said, smiling softly. "Your best friend. He's alive and he's innocent and he's free—"

"And he's on the run until we can prove any of that," Remus said. It stung almost as much as losing his job, that Sirius was a free man but could not live as one.

"But you know the truth. You know it wasn't him. That must count for something."

He nodded and let his head fall back against the headboard. "It does, yes. You're right. I'm only seeing the negative right now, because nothing that happened really matters to anyone but us. And now I don't have a job anymore, and it will still be just as difficult to find one."

"Then stay here," she said. "We get on well enough. I could use the help, with old Harold slowing down. Stay here," she repeated.

He stared at her as if she were mad. "I can't stay," he finally replied. "Not after what happened last night. No one will want me here, knowing what I am and what I'm capable of."

"You're a good man capable of incredible deeds," Rosmerta replied firmly.

"I'm a werewolf capable of killing a man," he whispered back.

"You haven't and you won't," she said.

"I can't stay," he repeated slowly. "But you could come with me."

Now she stared at him in disbelief. "What?" she asked.

"Come with me," he repeated, letting impulse take over and throwing caution to the wind. "We could start over somewhere new, where no one would have to know about me, where we…" He trailed off at the look on her face. He had shocked her; he had even shocked himself. He had spoken before thinking, yet now that he had said it, he meant it. He couldn't stay in Hogsmeade, so why shouldn't she come with him? Perhaps they could turn their relationship into something more, something real.

"I can't leave," she finally replied, and she said it gently, as if letting him down in any way would hurt less. "This is my home, my life. I like it here." She reached out to his face, caressing it fondly. "You're just asking out of desperation."

"I was asking because I meant it," he said, pressing her hand to his cheek. "But I know it's a ridiculous thought." He did not add that of course she wouldn't want to be with him, he was an jobless, penniless werewolf.

"It's not," she replied, moving closer. "Remus, you'll find something to do, find someone to be with. I don't think what we have is…permanent enough for me to leave, or for you to stay."

"You're right, of course," he said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "About us, I mean. I don't have much hope for the other things."

She kissed him gently, smiling against his lips. "Remus Lupin, you are wrong about that."

He kissed her back, hoping she was right.

* * *

_iv. December, 1994_

"Remus!" Rosmerta called, waving down the bedraggled man in the doorway being battered by the wind and snow. "Have a seat at the bar and I'll be right with you."

He stomped the wet slush from his boots and made his way to the bar and what had always been his usual stool. For Christmas, it was crowded, and Rosmerta found herself surprisingly busy. It was only lunchtime, but there were twice as many customers as she would normally see on the holiday, and it was several minutes before she could make her way up front to greet her favorite customer. He was already nursing a glass of spiced wine.

She kissed him on the cheek and motioned at his drink. "I see Henry has already served you, but what can I help you with?"

"Henry?" he asked, looking confused. He glanced down the bar at man about his own age pouring out a glass of Firewhiskey. "Where's Harold?"

Rosmerta laughed. "He's upstairs resting. Henry is his son. He's up to visit for the month, and we asked him to help out with the unexpected crowd. I'm thinking of asking him to stay on."

Remus gave her a funny look, and she rolled her eyes. "To help. Harold was quite ill in the fall, and it was hard getting through the influx of students with all that's going on up at the castle." She leaned closer with a wink. "Nothing to be jealous of, you're still the one I look forward seeing most."

He shook his head ruefully. "Right. The most." Taking a sip of his wine, he waved an arm around the pub. "Has it been like this all year?"

She shrugged as she leaned back against the bar. "It's definitely been busier with the Triwizard Tournament, especially on Hogsmeade weekends. I had no idea we'd be so full for Christmas."

"Do you have any rooms?" he asked, looking worried, and she laid a hand on his arm.

"I always have room for you, Remus," she said, and he patted her hand. He looked tired and relieved to know there was space for him. Motioning to Henry to check on a nearby table, she continued talking. "How are you doing? What have you been up to?"

He shrugged and finished his wine, motioning for more. "I'm all right, and not much."

When he didn't elaborate, she continued, knowing him well enough to understand his reluctance and yet at the same time his deep need to talk. "Are you working?" she asked, trying to keep it casual.

"Here and there—odd jobs that'll have me for as long as they'll have me. I get by."

"Good." After another lengthy pause, she continued once more. "I could still use help around here. Especially now."

He gave her a sad look. "I thought we agreed your life wasn't for me, just as mine wasn't for you?" he asked softly, leaning toward her. She felt that familiar attraction as he neared her and smiled coyly at him

"No, you didn't want to stay and I didn't want to leave," she said. "That's different."

"Nothing's changed," he said. "I can't stay."

She nodded slowly, starting to understand something about this man she had known for so many years. Though she had supported him through much heartbreak, it was only now that she finally knew what drove him: he was afraid to commit, to grow close to anyone or anything, for fear of losing it. He had lost everything, once, and still so many years later his fear held him back from truly living the life he deserved.

She couldn't change him, though. She also knew that. She had always known what she was: comfort on a cold night, love in a lonely place. And truthfully, he was the same for her, and she didn't need anything more from him. So she didn't push him.

"What brings you to Hogsmeade then?" she asked curiously.

"I'm hoping to convince Sirius to come in out of the cold and have a hot meal," he said, lowering his voice so no one heard him. She stared at him in surprise.

"What are you talking about? Is he here, in Hogsmeade?"

Remus hesitated on his answer, obviously reluctant to reveal too much. "I think he's been keeping an eye on Harry. He's in the tournament, you know." When she nodded, he continued. "He's been…hiding out, sending an occasional word. Aberforth said with a few concealing spells he'd be welcome at the Hog's Head tonight. Reluctantly."

She breathed out a sigh of relief, that she wouldn't be harboring a known fugitive for the night. For although she had always had a hard time believing Sirius Black had sent the Potters to their deaths and believed Remus's story from last spring, she still wouldn't feel safe, knowing the Ministry considered the man an escaped criminal and was looking for Black, even after so many months.

"I hope he takes you up on your offer, then," she said. "I suspect he needs it, poor man."

He inclined his head in answer, sipping at his wine.

"Will you be back later, then?" she asked, and he gave her a rare smile that brought a playful twinkle to his eye and almost made her blush. "I'll need to let Harold know whether to have your fire ready."

"I'll be back," he murmured, raising his hand and brushing a finger along her jaw in that intimate way they shared. She almost shivered, but stopped herself in front of the crowd. "We've spent too many Christmases together for me to miss this one."

A table in the back called for her, and she stepped forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Good," she said. "Then I'll wait up for you."

She hurried toward her customers, feeling his eyes watching her move. Even if it was only one night, she was glad she had returned.

* * *

_v. July, 1995_

"Voldemort's back."

The words echoed across the empty pub. Rosmerta stared at him, struck speechless. She sank into a chair, and he quickly sat down across from her, leaning forward to speak quietly and support her, though she did not need such support. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"What?" she whispered. "How do you know?"

He let his head fall into his hands, rubbing at his temples before looking up. He looked six years older, not six months. Whatever had happened since Christmas had weighed on him terribly.

"Harry," he said simply. "Peter Pettigrew used Harry's blood to bring Voldemort back during the final task of the Triwizard tournament."

"You don't mean when that boy died, Cedric Diggory?" she whispered, hand flying to her mouth. She had known Cedric as well as she had known most of the Hogwarts students, and she hated that he had died so needlessly, all for the sake of a game. Remus nodded sadly.

"Peter killed Cedric Diggory. He tortured Harry and resurrected Voldemort."

"No," she said, shaking her head in confusion. "That's not right—the ,Prophet said that Cedric's death was an accident, that Harry was deluded and just trying to cause trouble—"

"The Daily Prophet also said that Dumbledore is a madman trying to spread fear and discord through lies and rumormongering, and you know him better than that," Remus replied, giving her a reproachful look. "You can't believe the Prophet. Not now."

"Why not?" she asked. She was no longer shocked, but confused. He tried to explain, though it seemed difficult for him; she could only imagine what Harry must be going through.

"Fudge refuses to accept it," he told her. "He's leaning on the paper to print what he wants people to believe, and he doesn't want them to believe Dumbledore or Harry. But he's wrong." Remus leaned forward and took her hand, squeezing it earnestly. "Voldemort's back. You must believe me."

Rosmerta nodded slowly. She knew Remus well enough to know when to trust him, and her instincts told her he was not lying. "All right. Then why are you here? Just to tell me this?"

He leaned back and sighed. "We've brought the Order together again."

"And you're in it?" He nodded. "Again." Another nod. "Even after what happened last time." In some ways, the Order had taken everything from him, and she wondered at his returning to it so quickly.

"I still believe in it," he protested. "And with Fudge in denial, we're the only thing standing between Voldemort and whatever he has planned."

"What does he have planned then?" she asked, challenging him. He waved his arms helplessly.

"We're not sure, but we're doing our best to find out and stop him. Rosmerta," he pleaded. "You have to believe me."

"I believe you, " she said slowly. "But that still doesn't really answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I had to see Aberforth about something for the Order," he said, looking away before turning back with a fierce look in his eyes. "But I wanted to see you."

"You're worried about me," she said, and at the surprised look on his face she pulled him toward her and kissed him lightly. "I'll be all right. I made it through last time just fine."

"This is different," Remus said. "The Ministry won't even acknowledge him, let alone fight back—"

She took his hand, pulled him up, and began leading him toward the stairs. "Then that's what we have you for, isn't it?"

He followed her without answering; by lunch he had gone back to war.

* * *

_vi. June, 1996_

"You haven't been by my pub, Remus Lupin."

The voice behind him startled him out of his dark reverie. He had been staring through the dirty window of the Hog's Head, a half-finished glass of Firewhiskey sliding its way back and forth between his hands. He didn't hear her enter, didn't hear her approach. When she spoke, however, he sighed, finished his drink, and turned to greet her, feeling wretched over his reluctance to see her.

"I'm sorry." What else could he say? That he couldn't bear to see her now, when everything was still so fresh and raw? That for the first time in almost fifteen years, he wasn't thinking about her when he needed someone, but thinking about someone else instead?

The look on his face must have given her some clue. "What is it? What's happened?"

Remus gave her a skeptical look: it had been in the Prophet. "He's back. Officially." He finished his drink, hoping it would drown out some of the hellish reality around him.

She waved him off, knowing there was more because there always was, and she always worked it out of him. "You told me that a year ago. What really happened? Were you there, at the Ministry?"

He laughed bitterly as he toyed with his now empty glass. "Yes, I was there."

"And?"

"And it was a hell of a fight," he replied dryly.

"Dammit, Remus, tell me what's wrong," she snapped. "You should have come to me, not sit here drinking Merlin-knows-what in this dingy dump by yourself."

"Careful, Rosmerta," he murmured. "Aberforth might hear you."

"Good!" she exclaimed. "Maybe he can tell me what's going on, then."

"You want to know what's going one?" he asked, feeling a flash of anger that he knew was not directed at her. "Fine. Sirius is dead. He shouldn't have even been there, but he was and he fought brilliantly, yet he's still dead. Gone." He shuddered just saying it, his heart breaking all over again as he pictured his last best friend tumbling through the veil. "Forever."

Rosmerta was silent. That was one thing he had always loved about her: she never reacted with dramatic shock and exaggerated pity. Instead, she took his cold hand in her own. "Come on. Let's go back to the Three Broomsticks."

Remus shook his head, letting it fall to his chest before looking up and answering. "I can't."

"Why not?" she asked, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that she was worried, or hurt, or both.

"I can't do that to you anymore," he murmured. "I can't come running to you every time I need someone."

She bent down and turned his face toward hers, and he let her caress his cheek, reveling in its warm softness. "It's all right, Remus. That's what we do, what we have."

"No," he said, shaking his head away from her hand. "I can't do it anymore. I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me—" she started, but he stopped her.

"There's someone else," he said, his voice flat. It was both true and not true: he had feelings for someone else, and yet like he had done with Rosmerta, he kept pushing her away. Or he had tried, and failed, and now everything was an even more confusing mess. She was in the hospital, seriously injured, Sirius was dead, and Voldemort was really, truly back…

Rosmerta was very quiet. He thought she would pull away, but she touched him again, and this time he felt that spark that always flew between them, and he knew he was weak and wouldn't be able to keep telling her no, not if she pushed him.

She took his chin and gazed into his eyes, but he did not see any anger there. He saw her strength and her empathy, and even love, but he did not see pain, and he sighed in relief that he had not hurt her. It was all they needed with one another: a single look said it all. She leaned forward to kiss him, and he kissed her back, feeling only sadness tinged with confusion.

"Then maybe you should be with her instead of swilling Aberforth's bathwater all by yourself."

Remus threw back his head and laughed bitterly. "I can't do that either."

Rosmerta sighed and stood up. She motioned to the bar for a drink and helped herself to the seat across from him.

"Start talking, Remus, or I will make you tell me everything."

* * *

_viii. June, 1997_

She knew the funeral was over when the streets began to slowly fill with people, witches and wizards returning to the village from the castle, all with their heads and shoulders bowed. She heard them downstairs as they came in looking for food and drink and company, but she did not go down to greet them. Henry could handle it, better than she could at the moment.

There was a knock at the door, and a voice from the hallway called to her. "There's someone here to see you, Rosie," said old Harold. She sighed as she pulled her robes around her and moved slowly to the door, dreading any company.

Of course it was Remus. It was always Remus.

"You didn't come to the funeral," he said, stating the obvious. She shrugged, holding back tears that she could not pay her final respects to a man she had greatly admired.

"I was not allowed, given the circumstances." She stood there silently, avoiding his eyes. She had always felt so comfortable around him, so strong, yet now she felt nothing but shame and anger and just wished he would leave. She could not be his comfort, not that day.

"May I come in?" he finally asked, and she nodded in resignation before opening the door to her chambers. It was the first time he had ever asked, and the first time she had ever offered in all their years of knowing one another. He gazed around the comfortable rooms with an interested eye before turning to her with a small smile.

"Exactly what I would expect," he said. "It's lovely."

"It's home." She shrugged once more. "I'm a bit sick of it now, to be honest."

"How much longer do you have to remain here?" he asked, sounding sympathetic. He probably understood better than most men what it was like to be stuck inside, away from people.

"I don't know," she replied. "Until such time as I'm seen fit to return to duty, I suppose." She heard the bitter edge to her voice, recognized it from hearing it in Remus's voice so many times over the years, but she didn't care. She had been Imperiused for months, completely oblivious, and her actions had almost killed two students, not to mention alerted the Death Eaters to Dumbledore's absence from the school the night he had died. She deserved her punishment, but that did not make it easier to bear.

Remus had heard the bitterness as well and simply held out his arms to her. Unable to stop herself, she fell into them, sobbing for all that had happened, all that had been lost. She cried for the man whose funeral she had not been allowed to attend, for so many others injured and recovering. She cried for Harry, and for Remus, and for herself, and most of all for the damn war that was now undeniably upon them, in all its stark reality.

How long she cried onto his shoulder, she did not know. He gently rubbed her back before finally guiding her to a chair and handing her a handkerchief, where she saw that his robes had a large wet spot. The sudden ridiculousness of her outburst made her laugh, and he brushed back her hair as she blew her nose and tried to settle her nerves. She was supposed to be the strong one. For him.

"How was it?" she asked, and he swallowed before he pulled up a second chair to talk.

"It was fitting. He would have appreciated it, I think." Remus paused and gazed out the window with a small smile. "Or rolled his eyes quite a bit, perhaps."

Rosmerta laughed again, a small hiccup escaping with an inelegant squeak. "Probably a bit of both. Remus, what happened that night? What really happened?"

He shook his head as if he didn't want to remember, but she reached out for his hand. "Please tell me. He was here that night, you know. Albus came by with Harry. I was the one who…who told Malfoy he had left the castle. But where did he go? And why was he so ill when he came back?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Remus replied. "Harry won't say anything, only that Dumbledore asked him not to reveal some sort of secret mission. But I can tell you this: it was not Draco Malfoy who killed Dumbledore. It was Severus Snape."

"I know," she murmured. "Minerva told me when she was here the other day. I still can't believe it." She was silent as she thought once more about the irreparable damage she had caused, the lives she had ruined all because she was weak and had been Imperiused by a young, fledging Death Eater…

"It's not your fault," Remus said, as if reading her mind, and she glanced up at him in surprise. "You were under a spell to tell Malfoy that Dumbledore had gone, and if you hadn't, it's likely Snape would have done so anyway."

"That doesn't change everything else," she murmured, holding back tears once more as her guilt refused to diminish at his words.

"It's not your fault," he repeated. "No one blames you."

"Thank you, Remus," she said. "Is that why you came? To tell me that?"

"I wanted to see you, to make sure you were all right," he said softly, taking her hand. She sighed, somehow sensing what was coming next from the tone of his voice.

"And you've finally worked things out with her, haven't you?" she asked before he could say anything else. Grey eyes met hers in shock, and she laughed as she leaned close enough to pat his cheek as she so often had…and might never do again.

"How did you know?" he asked softly.

"Your voice, your body," she replied. "The spark in your eyes. There's a look about a man, Remus, when he's in love and finally accepted it. You have that look."

He squeezed her hand. "You're an amazing woman, Rosmerta."

She refused to give in to the sadness, that she wasn't the one who had given him that look. They both knew it was never meant to be, not for them. Yet she still felt like she had lost something, even if it was something she had never had.

"And you are a good man, Remus," she said.

He leaned forward to kiss her, softly and gently, and she closed her eyes and smiled against him, until she pulled back and nodded, knowing it would be their last time.

"You'll be all right," he said, as much of a question as it was a statement.

"Eventually," she replied. "When this blows over."

He sighed heavily. "I wish I could ask you to go away with me again," he murmured. "Take you away from all this. I know what it's like, and you shouldn't have to go through this."

"I still wouldn't go," she replied, earning a wry smile in return. "I like it here, and I'll fight for it. Besides, your heart is elsewhere now. You need to follow that."

He nodded wordlessly as he stood to leave, and she walked him to the door. "I'm not sure when I'll see you again," he said at the threshold, turning toward her with bright eyes. "It's going to get bad now."

"Stay safe, Remus," she whispered, and this time she simply kissed him on the cheek. "And be happy."

He embraced her before leaving, and she quickly shut the door so he wouldn't see her tears. She walked to the window and watched as he left the inn, meeting up down the street with a young woman with bright purple hair. He took her hand and they set off down the road together, bodies relaxed and arms entwined. And then her tears stopped, and Rosmerta smiled.

Yes, Remus would finally be happy, for however long he had. And though she would miss being his consolation, her heart was glad for him, knowing he had finally find peace and love. She only hoped to find her own one day soon.

* * *

End Notes: 

This story was written for the 2012 Great Hall Cotillion Challenge at MNFF. Thank you so much to lea/mugglegirlmarauder for looking this over as I don't branch out into these kinds of pairings often. The pairing actually started as a drabble prompt at MNFF over the summer - Remus, Rosmerta, and Butterbeer - so thank you to that prompter as well and the Three Broomsticks forum for that fun challenge! I hope you enjoy this pairing! Thank you for reading and reviewing! :)


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